


this is not what bagpipes are used for

by jeien



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, Cú is the idiot son she has to now deal with, Family, Family Shenanigans, Gen, Rated for swearing, Scáthach is Cú's adopted mom, Stupidity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 07:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18517087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeien/pseuds/jeien
Summary: Cú does not know how to play the bagpipes whatsoever, but that doesn't deter him from trying to stop a traffic jam with them. Scáthach is tired and has to deal with the stupidity that she unfortunately signed up for when she adopted him.Lord help her eardrums.





	this is not what bagpipes are used for

**Author's Note:**

> after writing that character study, i return with purely self-indulgent dumbass hours oops
> 
> also yes i know there's a difference between pibroch pipes and uilleann pipes but uilleann pipes actually sound gorgeous so this fic is 100% pibroch babey (disclaimer: no pibroch pipes were harmed in the making of this fic)

“For fuck’s sake, what’s taking so long?”

Scáthach huffs out a sigh, trying to keep her composure in front of her son—but the traffic has never quite deadened to a car-to-car stasis in the decade she’s lived here and she’s slowly starting to feel the same frustration at the standstill. She rolls down the window and peers out as far as she can. “Looks like a truck stopped in the middle of the road.”

From the sounds of the faux-leather shifting, Cú has finally straightened up from his seat. “What, out of gas or something? It’s not crashed or on fire.”

“Nothing to be done for now,” she says, watching other drivers exit their cars to talk to the person only to return disgruntled. It’s probably just another idiot. Lord knows they have far too many of them around these parts; Scáthach even has one in the car with her. She sighs again and leans back, crossing her arms. “Go call your grandmother and say we’re going to be held up.”

She doesn’t hear him grumble. Already, that’s a bad omen.

“Sétanta.”

Finally, Cú moves into action. But instead of getting out his phone and calling his grandmother like she told him to, he instead reaches over to the seat next to him and unzips the bag that lay on it.

“Sétanta, what the fresh hell are you doing.”

“Relax, old hag,” Cú reassures with the least reassuring voice. Scáthach clicks her tongue: as if she could relax while her dumbass dog of a child retrieves her family’s heirloom bagpipes. Why they even had one had always been beyond her since their father had long since passed, but it had ended up in her hands years ago since they refused to throw it away without actually wanting to keep it in their homes—at least until now, when her mother had asked to bring it back. Which is why they’re making the trip. And also why Cú should be _calling her_ instead of saying, “I’ve got this handled.”

“You don’t even know how to _play_ the damn thing!”

Cú opens the car door and steps out, not even bothering to properly close it again as he tucks the bag beneath his arms and goes on his way. She’s just about ready to go after him and drag him back kicking and screaming when she sees his lips wrap around the mouthpiece—

Even though everyone else on their side of the highway are inside the safety of their cars, one can still hear the collective and immediate shout of protest. Scáthach pinches the bridge of her nose as the buzzing in her ears makes way for a potential migraine because _Lord Almighty, the sound is unholy_. Those aren’t even notes he’s playing anymore.

She thinks, with the strange sort of fondness only mothers have, that Cú is ridiculous. (Though, the boy insists on keeping a stupid yellow Hawaiian shirt from when she first adopted him and did a preliminary weed of his closet. She knew from the beginning that he’s this ridiculous.) After a while, the grating noise from the pipes started to form some semblance of actual pitch. Except that Cú seems to also realize this and intentionally made the instrument squeak like a congested baby sheep, forcing his progress to dive right back to Square One of Absolute Shit.

It couldn’t have been more than fifteen or twenty minutes of listening to her son butcher a noble Scottish tradition with his halfassery, but the sound of bagpipes eventually stopped. In a handful more minutes, Scáthach can see the vehicles in front of her start to slowly crawl forward. She sits dumbfounded for a few seconds, wondering _Are you actually serious?_ , before shifting the stick to drive.

The pace is still slow, but at least they’re moving. It’s slow enough that she’s able to meet Cú halfway from his venture back and have him safely get back into the car without having to pull off an action movie maneuver. She doesn’t even wait for him to slam the door shut when she says, “I can’t believe annoying him with bagpipes worked.”

Cú smirks as he puts the instrument back in its bag, carefully guiding the parts into their proper places. “Told you I’d handle it. Have some more faith in me.”

“I will when you stop being a fucking idiot,” Scáthach says back, glancing at the rearview mirror to watch his jaw slacken at hearing her actually swear. Eyes back on the road, she adds, “And since that’s not going to happen any time soon, I’ll just have to make do with yelling at you to _call your fucking grandmother already_ or, so help me God, I’m beating your ass with those bagpipes as soon as we get there.”

Scáthach huffs out another sigh—but this time, it’s with the satisfaction of seeing Cú reach for his phone with an unprecedented speed.  

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/jeienb/)


End file.
